Sealing Fate Page 8

  “What have you done to Bob?” Brian raised his voice, but it signaled more panic than anger.

  “He's no longer able to help you. No one is. You have a choice to make. It's real simple. Are you ready to do what I ask, or do you want to do more damage?”

  Brian was silent. He was desperately scared. His thoughts raced. Could I really kill someone to get out of this mess? Or should I just admit to everything and try to convince everyone that I didn't kill Cathy? Convince them with what? he thought. Our secret affair? My fingerprints on everything in her apartment, maybe even the murder weapon in the possession of this terrorist? He had nothing that would convince anyone of his innocence. How could I kill someone? Someone I didn't even know? Because a voice on the telephone demanded it?

  “Still not sure, Brian? Try to contact Bob. Then listen to the news tonight, and you'll know that all I'm telling you is real.” The line went dead.

  * * *

  At two o'clock, Michael Hayward stared out the window of his office. Twice during the past two days, he had called Jason Ross, the first time offering his congratulations and the second time his full cooperation. He had followed up the visits with a lengthy email, updating Ross on pending projects and suggesting strategies on each. He was smiling, amused by Jason Ross' confusion at being treated with so much accommodation and respect.

  Sheila buzzed him. “Mike, your wife is on line two.”

  “Thanks, Sheila.” He slapped at the button. “Hi, Carol.”

  “Mike, don't forget the Largent's party tonight. You need to get home in time for us to leave by seven.”

  “No problem. I'll be there.”

  “You sound like you're in good spirits today.”

  “Yeah, I am.” His grin widened.

  “What happened to all that anger about the promotion?”

  “I guess I just figured out that the anger was counterproductive. Besides, I think Jason and I are going to work things out. Being number-two man will come with plenty of clout.”

  “That's good news, Mike. I'm glad.”

  He looked out at the sea of movement thirty-five stories below. “Everything's going to be fine.”

  “So I'll see you at about six thirty?”

  “You will. Bye, Carol.”

  Michael put the telephone back in its cradle and turned to see Sheila standing in the open doorway, looking at him quizzically. “You've worked things out with Jason Ross?” she asked suspiciously.

  Michael was momentarily caught off guard. For just a second, he knew that his expression gave it away. Then he regained his poise. “I'm hopeful that we will. Nothing has been finalized yet.”

  She stood there in silence and then said, “I'm just surprised.”

  He nodded, now in full control once again. “I've thought about it a great deal. I've concluded that sometimes you have to make the best of a little less than what you wanted. This is one of those times.”

  She nodded her approval. “That's a great attitude. I just wouldn't have guessed you'd arrive there.” Her thoughts returned to the reason she had come into the office, and she asked him a question about a proposed board resolution.

  Michael smiled as he gave her direction. He really did feel good.

  * * *

  Brian had not been able to reach Bob all afternoon, as had been promised. A half-dozen messages were unreturned. Bob's office had no idea where he was, but his secretary said it wasn't unusual for him to get caught up in an assignment for longer than anticipated. He would call in by tomorrow morning at the latest.

  At five o'clock, Brian turned on the local news. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” said a suave-looking man in his mid-forties. He wore a blue suit and sat behind a desk staring into the camera. “Our top story tonight is breaking news in the murder case of International Resource Corporation Marketing Manager Cathy Jenkins. We are informed that tomorrow's Los Angeles Times will report that the victim had sexual intercourse shortly before her murder. It will also be reported that the intercourse was consensual. There is no evidence of rape or sexual molestation.”

  Brian could feel his stomach muscles tightening.

  “This is consistent with the present police theory that Ms. Jenkins knew her assailant and let him into her home voluntarily.”

  Just hearing it made Brian feel more nauseated. With every news release, the inevitable seemed close. It would all come back to him.

  “In a second development on the case, the police received a jewelry box this afternoon, which family members have already confirmed as belonging to the victim. It is in police laboratories tonight for analysis. Police are hopeful that this new piece of evidence will provide some clue as to the identity of the killer. Police are not saying how they obtained the jewelry box, but apparently it is just one of a number of belongings that were removed from the scene on the night of the murder. We will keep you informed of all late-breaking events in connection with this tragedy. In other news tonight, there have been seventeen arrests in connection with the city's biggest drug bust in—”

  Brian pushed the power button of the remote, and the set fell silent. Cathy had loved that jewelry box. He had watched her glow as she made the ballerina twirl to the music. He had touched the music box several times to turn it on for her, to watch her light up. Sergeant Merrick would be back soon with more questions, to have Brian repeat his denials that he saw her socially. And he'd have a warrant for his arrest. It was all so out of control. Brian stood and ran to the bathroom. He lifted the toilet seat and threw up.

  Chapter 10

  Brian stayed awake all night. He paced, he stared out the living room window into the darkness, and he turned on a Godzilla movie that no one was supposed to be awake to see at three in the morning. Actors with strong Japanese accents spoke English words, dubbed in over Japanese dialogue. The loud roar of the monster preceded the movement of its mouth by about three seconds.

  After fifteen minutes of halfheartedly listening to prehistoric growling and watching buildings being flattened and insignificantly small humans fleeing with their hands in the air, Brian returned to bed. Barbara asked if he were okay. By the time he mumbled that he was, she had already fallen back to sleep, if she had really been awake. Brian stared at the ceiling and thought about Cathy. He wished he could talk to her one more time, to find out what happened that night and to tell her that he cared.

  He drifted off to sleep and saw the jewelry box and Cathy's laughing eyes watching it joyfully as the ballerina danced. Then he saw Cathy standing in front of him in a long, flowing dress that imperceptible breeze moved. Love filled her blue eyes. She reached out to Brian. He smiled and reached out to take her hands. He found that she was just out of reach. She was still smiling at him, still beckoning. A veil of fog surrounded her, and Brian found it hard to see. Then she began to move backward, away from him. She extended her arms to reach for him, and then she was gone.

  Brian awoke, sitting up with his arms extended in darkness. He stared out into the dark room and waited. There was only silence. The dream had been so real. He wiped a tear from his eye and climbed out of bed. He walked to the front door and looked out. Nothing.

  He went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Then he sat down at the kitchen table to wait. By now the police would have what they needed from the jewelry box, and they would be coming. Merrick would soon knock on the door. Brian wondered if he should wake up Barbara to tell her before they got there. He got as far as the bedroom door before stopping. He watched her sleep, at peace in a world far away, and he couldn't do it. He returned to the kitchen table and sat down to wait. Every few minutes he went to the front door to look out. At morning's first light, Brian still waited. The knock never came.

  At seven a.m., Brian sat in the dining room, drinking coffee. Barbara was still asleep. The telephone rang. He picked it up before it rang again.

  “Brian?” the killer said in an ominous voice.

  “Yeah, this is Brian.”

  “I trust yo
u saw the news?”

  “I saw it.”

  “The object is clean. I made sure of it. No prints, no hair, and no fibers. Understand?”

  Brian audibly let out a breath of air with the sudden relief. He felt a perverse gratitude toward this monster that made him feel sick. “I understand.” Brian hesitated. “A warning.”

  “Yes. So that you know, I could have left your name written all over it. And if I need to, I will.”

  “I see,” Brian said with resignation.

  “Do you? You touched many things in her apartment, Brian. Maybe that box of condoms you kept in the nightstand will be next. Not only will they know you were there, they'll know who Ms. Jenkins was sleeping with, right?” The man paused for effect. “Did you let them know that you knew her intimately? It'll be hard to explain the condoms if you didn't. Or maybe we should get right to the key object. Give them the so-called smoking gun. What do you think?”

  “You son of a bitch,” Brian hissed.

  “Expressing your anger to someone else may be good therapy, but don't waste it on me. I don't want this to happen, I've told you that before. I just want your cooperation.”

  “I know what you want.”

  “Today is Tuesday. Is it going to happen?”

  Brian wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Oh, God, I don't know. I just don't know.”

  “Okay, I've done what I can to convince you. I'm running out of patience.” The line went dead.

  Brian put down the telephone, feeling on the verge of panic. It was hard to catch his breath, and his eyes were beginning to tear. The tears were misting in his eyes, blurring his vision. If only he could really kill this Ross, it could be all over. He almost wanted to, just to buy some peace, but he didn't think he could do it. If he had a chance though, he would kill that son of a bitch on the telephone.

  Brian put his head in his hands. He needed to compose himself and consider all the options one more time. He still couldn't go to the police. There was another solution, and it shocked him that it would even occur to him. For a passing moment, Brian thought about taking his own life. He knew he wouldn't do that either. He sat with his head in his hands, feeling scared and alone. Then he did something he hadn't done in a long time. He prayed for help.

  At nine o'clock, Brian kissed Barbara good-bye and left for the office. He was without sleep and not sure how much he could accomplish, but some things couldn't be postponed. Maybe he was just clinging to the few remnants of normalcy that remained in his life. He knew it wouldn't last. Fear paralyzed him into inaction. He was making no decision about Jason Ross' future or his own. And he had no time.

  Brian told himself he couldn't kill a stranger in a parking lot. This was a man who probably had a family and a career, a life. Brian didn't think he could do it, even to keep himself away from murder charges or to save his marriage. And God help him, not even to help Bob, wherever he was. Brian couldn't stop the caller from doing whatever he was going to do. So there was nothing to do but wait for the inevitable, for his house of cards to fall.

  Brian spent the morning returning calls and preparing for a policy formulation meeting with Congressman Wilson Shaw and party chairman Byron Epstein, important men in the same party who just happened to be natural enemies. Brian was going to negotiate proposed party policies with two men who couldn't agree on what day it was while they were staring at a calendar and who were guaranteed to be raising voices at one another before the salutations were over. Brian only hoped they wouldn't bring weapons. At least planning the meeting was a momentary distraction from the weight of the thoughts that seemed to overwhelm his mind during every waking hour.

  At ten o'clock, he called Barbara to make sure everything was okay. The phone rang three times before she answered, and Brian found himself more nervous with each ring.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “You okay, Barb?” Brian asked quickly.

  “Yeah, I'm okay. I guess. It's all pretty eerie though, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I'm going to get out of the house for a while. Janet's coming over with Lindsay, and we're going to do a couple chores and then go to lunch.”

  Brian was glad. Janet was more than a sister to Barbara. She was a good friend. He was sure Barbara could use someone to talk to right now.

  “Sounds like a great idea. Give her my love, will you?”

  “I will.”

  “And tell Lindsay her Uncle Brian plans to tickle her senseless.”

  “I'll do that. I can already hear her giggling.”

  “Call me when you get back and we'll plan dinner.”

  “Sounds good. I love you, Brian.”

  “I love you too.” As Brian put down the phone, he thought about the fact that neither of them had spoken of the caller or about the fact that it was Tuesday.

  * * *

  Bob began to regain consciousness. Everything was fuzzy. It was dark, and he was lying on his stomach, unable to move. His hands were tied behind him, and his legs were bound together at the ankles. He could feel the tightly drawn cloth of the blindfold over his eyes and another piece of cloth over his mouth. Slowly the haze began to clear. He remembered the ambush at his home. He remembered some kind of a stun gun. Then nothing until now. He had no idea how much time had passed.

  Bob tugged at the bindings on his wrists and ankles. There was not much give. He relaxed and tried to collect his thoughts. For all he knew, his abductor was just a few feet away. He had to go slowly. He rolled to his right and hit a wall only a foot away. He rolled to his left and hit something soft. He rolled into it again and realized it was clothing. He pushed harder and felt a hard surface beyond the fabric. He was in a closet of some kind. The way he was bound and isolated probably meant his captor was not nearby.

  Bob began to work his jaw to try to free himself of the bindings. He flexed and extended his hands and wrists, trying to find some give in the rope. He knew he had his work cut out for him. What he didn't know was how much time he had before someone returned.

  After pulling at the ropes for about twenty minutes with little progress, Bob devised an alternative. He rolled to the door and then crawled to bring himself into alignment with the jamb. He began rubbing the ropes that bound his wrists against the sharp edge of the hinge. His movement was limited, so the process yielded minimal progress and maximal exertion. As he applied pressure to his bindings, Bob began a mental review of his cases in an effort to identify his captor. It didn't take long to conclude that the possibilities were numerous.

  Chapter 11

  Barbara pulled up to the curb and looked toward the blue and white, single-story house near the end of the cul-de-sac. Janet and Lindsay came out waving and walked toward the car. Lindsay's had pulled her long brown hair back and flowing down below her shoulders. Her bangs pointed the way to big, brown eyes that sparkled alternatively with intelligence and curiosity. Her small turned-up nose and ear-to-ear smile made her irresistible.

  Barbara waved and waited as Janet opened the door and climbed in the front. Janet had the same jet-black hair as Barbara, but she wore it short, and it curled under at her shoulders. Her hazel eyes seemed to hold an expression of cynicism. She had the same high cheekbones as Barbara and moved with the same elegance.

  “Hi, Jan,” she said.

  “Hey, sis, what's new? Other than your whole lifestyle, that is.”

  Barbara nodded. “You've got that right. Life changes rather abruptly when you're suddenly married to a Congressman.” She looked in the back seat and got a big grin from Lindsay. “Hi, Aunt Barbara.” She leaned forward in the seat and reached out to give Barbara a hug.

  Barbara touched her cheek and smiled. “So how's my favorite niece?”

  Lindsay shook her head and frowned. “I'm your only niece.” She looked rather seriously at Barbara, waiting for this important point to register.

  Barbara nodded. “I didn't mean favorite of my nieces. I mean my favorite of everybody's nieces.”

>   Lindsay chuckled. “In that case,” she said quite seriously, “can we get some popcorn to go with the movie?”

  “Is there any other way?” Barbara asked as she turned and shifted the car into drive.

  “No,” came the giggled response from the back seat.

  Barbara looked up to find Janet staring at her. “What? Did I violate some rule of driving etiquette?” Barbara asked.

  “Not yet,” her sister said without a hint of humor.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I just think you're so good with kids that you should have a few of your own.”

  “A few? Like a litter or something?”

  Lindsay was giggling again.

  “Maybe. There's a lot of wasted talent here.”

  Barbara frowned. “Now there's a nice left-handed compliment.”

  “No, I mean it. You have so much to offer a child. You and Brian would be great parents.” Janet furrowed her brow. “I mean, don't you want to have kids?”

  Barbara stared straight ahead, thinking of what to say. Yeah, I have wanted kids for the past ten years. I wanted to know what it felt like to have a beautiful, innocent child call me Mom and ask for a hug.

  “Barb?” Janet said after a moment.

  “Sorry. I was just thinking for a minute. Yeah, I want kids.” Barbara paused. “But you may have noticed that we're a little busy at this point in our lives.”

  Janet nodded. “So what are you going to do, put it off until right after menopause?”

  “Dammit, Janet, must you be so damned blunt,” Barbara said indignantly.

  “Ummmmm.” The sound came from the back seat. Barbara knew what it was about. “Aunt Barbara, you swore.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. I guess it just slipped out,” Barbara said more calmly.

  Lindsay still had a serious face on. “You did it twice, you know.”

  “Well, I'm sorry for both times.”

  “Okay.” Barbara could see Lindsay's face in the rearview mirror, now satisfied. “Are we almost there?”